


to whatever end

by slowly_go



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (Victorian ish), Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dark, Depression, Force-Feeding, Gore, Hate to Love, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Reading, Morally Grey Katsuki Yuuri, Needles, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This is so dark, Vampires, angst if it wasn't abundantly clear, there will be sex eventually, whatever it means to go from predator/prey to lovers eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowly_go/pseuds/slowly_go
Summary: Something lurks in the streets of Paris at night, Viktor should have taken heed to the warnings. Monsters and death keep good company, but never in the way Viktor hopes.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riparia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riparia/gifts).



> DLDR
> 
> this fic has unconventional characterization and may not be to your appetites; that's okay, it wasn't written for you. don't like, don't read.

It was dark and cold that night, a young college student turned up his jacket collar to break the winter wind.

 _'Much too late for a young man to be walking the streets alone,'_ he had heard the librarian warn as she shooed him out of the reading room. But Viktor would be fine, he had made this walk before. 

Flickering lamplight caught stray snowflakes as they fell, landing on the wet cobblestones underfoot. The streets felt oddly quiet for a weekend night, storefronts empty and shuttered against the cold. (Or maybe against something else?)

Viktor had heard whisperings of danger lurking in dark alleyways, in shadowed doors and abandoned buildings, but thought nothing of it. Teenagers enjoyed frightening each other, especially the newcomer, the foreign student in town on exchange.

A chill ran down his spine like a melted snowflake between his collar and his skin, running the length of his vertebrae. He shuddered and tightened his scarf around his throat.The walk felt further than it had been the night before. It was only ten blocks, but Viktor swore he had passed the same bakery twice. He hadn't turned right or left, only walked in a straight line along Main Street beside the river. But as the snow began to accumulate, he saw a long line of footprints ahead of him. His own.

A sudden cold sank into his bones and he stopped, standing outside Monsieur LeFevre's bakery once again. Perhaps those rumors had a hint of merit after all.

He swallowed thickly and looked over his shoulder, seeing his footprints in the snow. Before him, his footprints laid fresh as well. Another sharp gust of wind chapped his cheek and lips, forcing his head down to shield himself from it.

"What is this?" Viktor whispered under his breath, sure he was dreaming. He had fallen asleep in the reading room, studying for his exams. This was a dream.

 _"It isn't."_ A voice answered, and Viktor saw another pair of boots in the snow beside his.

_Drop._

_Drop._

_Drop._

Viktor saw it before he felt it, crimson beads of blood falling to the snow below him.

"It’s much too late for handsome young men to be wandering the streets alone." The voice was warm and cold at the same time, soft but rough. "Wise men listen to rumors." A cold hand snaked between his coat and his scarf, holding Viktor paralyzed entirely. He had to move, he had to run, he had to scream.

But he didn't want to.

"Beautiful, you put up such a wonderful fight." Warmth began to spread from the place that cold hand held him, bleeding down from his throat to his chest. "That's it. Well done."

Viktor moved as if he was floating, guided by that voice and touch, through a darkened alley he had never seen before. The brick wall behind him was damp and cold, but the growing warmth trickling down his throat soothed it. A firm hand pulled his head to the side, a heavy weight pressed against him.

"Divine."

Viktor felt the sting, the sharp prick of twin needles sinking into his throat- and the warmth was gone, replaced with terror, blinding and all-encompassing. His mouth fell open to scream, but all that fell from his lips was a rasping, choked sigh as the world around him began to dull, washed in tones of gray.

"No," he breathed, clawing limply at the hand at his throat. _"Please-"_

There was a snap, a choked sob. Then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more is coming, i promise. ambiguous ending for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like Yuuri, I have no self control

He wasn't  _ supposed  _ to do that. No one had been able to, not since he was a fledgling; Yuuri's control was stronger than a human's will. He had fallen squarely into Yuuri's trap, stepped easily into the illusion he had made for unsuspecting humans.

Why had he been able to break through?

Yuuri licked his lips, savoring the taste of his blood on his tongue. He was right, the boy was delicious... he had to have more.

With the blood loss, returning to consciousness would be unlikely without Yuuri's assistance. He had lost his warm, glowing cheeks, but Yuuri could hear his heartbeat faintly, stubbornly continuing. Yuuri sighed under his breath, but the crumpled, half-dead form slumped against the wall was too great a temptation to refuse.

Yuuri carried him easily through the winding system of alleys, cloaking them both from human eyes as he went. The risk was worth it by far, he couldn't leave him behind to die, not when he tasted that delicious. The streets were quiet and empty, gratefully. Some listened well to rumors, others didn't. Yuuri was grateful that at least one didn't listen. 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He was young, foreign... not unlike Yuuri, in this quarter of the city. Yuuri had been young all of his undead life, all things considered. Being frozen in time, stuck at the age of twenty-five for eternity had its benefits. Losing his humanity could have been worse. 

In the quiet of his dark apartment, he laid out the boy's pale, limp body on his sofa. He guessed he was of college age, by the bookbag he was carrying. Inside there was a small pocketbook of notes and coins... no wards, no weapons, nothing to show he was anything but human. Curious.

Yuuri mourned the ghost of his taste as he wrapped gauze around his throat, covering the wound his teeth had made.  _ 'More for later, _ ' he promised himself, hoping he could be patient enough to abstain.

He lit a fire in the hearth and tipped a cocktail of rehydrators past the boy's ashen lips, remembering his mentors doing the same countless times to preserve the longevity of their human cattle. One last thing, he realized, would be necessary. If the boy had fought so valiantly, he would need to be restrained. Yuuri hadn't needed to restrain his meals in years- draining a body was much easier with practice.

Locking the shackle around his ankle, Yuuri secured him to the ring bolted into the floor. 

It would be at least a few days before he was aware enough to answer any questions, Yuuri's patience was already wearing thin. He smelled divine, even half-dead and nearly drained of his blood. It would be a long few days. Yuuri left the apartment locked, keys stowed carefully in his waistcoat pocket. His thirst hadn't been quenched, not after drinking from the boy.

His victims fell too easily, mindlessly falling into his snares and dying quickly. They tasted different, they tasted worse. The beggars and aristocrats all tasted the same, like morphine and rancid flesh, rotting from the inside out.

He still couldn't shake the way the boy had felt on his tongue, his blood was warm and bright like a new penny.

_ "Please-" _

It still clung to his memory, even as he pulled the very last drop from a constable who had given him trouble the week before. Yuuri swore, pushing the empty body through the slats of the bridge, watching it tumble into the river below.

He had fought him. He had tried to beg for help. And on top of it all, he was delicious. A simple schoolboy, no older than eighteen, demanded Yuuri's attention more than any other had.

So passed three nights, three hunts that left him hungrier than before. The boy barely moved, only shifting or groaning occasionally. Yuuri wondered how his peers in the coven would have seen this, nursing his food back to health so gently. They would have laughed, called him a bleeding heart, though his own had long since stilled.

When the sun set on that fourth night, a weak cough shook Yuuri from his studies. He had been reading the books in the boy's bag, a collection of histories, law books. It was clear he had been studying to become a barrister, and his stubbornness was perfectly matched for the vocation.

Yuuri regretted not blindfolding him, but only for a moment. The second his eyes opened, his fear flooded the room, heady and thick like tobacco smoke in the air.

"You... you're-" His voice was weak, rasped and dry like sand, but the color had returned to his skin, the childlike roundness in his cheeks. "What is this? Where am I?"

"We’re in Paris. Why did you fight me?" Yuuri asked, not mincing his words or wasting his time. His throat was dry and aching, his thirst demanding a new hunt. "What do you know? How did you do it?"

His eyes were so blue, so wide. He was a beautiful human, Yuuri had to admit.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you almost killed me!" The boy replied, straining against the restraint holding him to the floor. "You... why didn't you do it? Why didn't you kill me?"

Yuuri furrowed his brow. "I can tell if you're lying."

The boy stopped writhing as exhaustion set in quickly, Yuuri had expected as much. His chest was heaving for breath, sweat beading at his hairline and under his shirt and his scent only grew thicker. His fear, tangible and physical, filled the room and Yuuri craved it.

"I'm not lying, I don't know what you're talking about." he replied between heavy breaths, weak hands moving for the buttons of his overcoat. "You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't kill you because you intrigue me. I want to keep you. Is that a good enough answer, schoolboy?" Yuuri answered, keeping his distance much to his own chagrin.

"No, it's not." he retorted, pulling weakly at his jacket. Yuuri rolled his eyes and crossed the room, pulling the offending woolen coat off, leaving him in just his shirtsleeves, a small pool of dried blood in the collar. "That's not good enough."

"Fine," Yuuri snapped, wrapping a hand around his jaw and forcing those terror-glazed eyes to meet his. "I didn't kill you because you said 'please'."

"Don't lie to me!" Tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes and he tried to pull himself free of Yuuri's gaze. "You don't care about me-"

"Of course I don't," Yuuri answered, forcing those eyes back to center, pulling the gauze wrapping from his throat where two rhyming scars marked that perfect vein. "But you shouldn't have been able to breathe, let alone speak." Yuuri cupped his jaw, pleased to feel the warmth return to his cheeks. 

The scent of his fear was too much to bear, Yuuri decided, pushed his head to the side and leaned in; the double pulse of his heartbeat guided him to that vein, that brandy-wine sweet blood just below his skin. 

He tasted just as incredible the second time, Yuuri thought, the tears spilling down his cheeks and the struggle he put up only made him sweeter. Yuuri pushed into his mind slowly that time, feeling him fight and defy Yuuri once again. It was an entirely new kind of hunt, a new challenge that brought more of a thrill than ever before.

"Please," he croaked again, a cold, weak hand pushing fruitlessly against Yuuri's cheek. "I'm scared, please—"

It was almost impossible to stop, the heady flavor of him was more addicting than any Yuuri could have imagined. He pulled away before he bled the boy dry again, leaving him conscious, if only just. 

"I didn't kill you. And I'm glad I didn't."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the words of lovely riparia, this chapter is kinda fucked up. please note the change in tags. i'm not going to apologize for my vent fic

Viktor blinked bleary eyes up at him, the monster draining him. It felt like looking through a veil, distant and separated, misty and indistinct. His chest felt as if it was collapsing, his heart aching between beats as it slowed. 

'This was worse than death,' he thought, to be sent to the edge of life only to be brought back again.

_"I didn't kill you. And I'm glad I didn't."_ He sounded cold, unaffected, as if his mouth wasn't stained red with Viktor's blood, as if he was being merciful for sparing Viktor's life.

"Viktor," he rasped as the cold sank in again, leaving him empty, floating, nothing.

~

He could see light, muted through curtains, behind his eyelids. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but the ache in his throat, the ugly churning of an empty stomach said it had been much longer than it should have been. His eyelids felt heavy when he blinked them open, his eyes were dry with disuse.

There was a plate of fruit and bread on a small, round table beside him, a note reading only 'Eat.' He hardly had time to question it before his stomach demanded he obey. His hands were quickly stained red without proper cutlery to open the pomegranate.

"This is what his hands must look like." Viktor remarked to no one but himself, listening to wet, slushy snow patter against the window. Were his classmates looking for him? His homestay family? Or had he simply disappeared, another in a long line of foolish children lost to Paris' underbelly?

His everything ached, his lungs burned and his legs felt as if they had atrophied- how long had he been here, tethered to the ground like a prisoner? Used as food for a monster?

And where was said monster?

Across the room was a closed door, no light trickled out from under the frame. He acted at night, Viktor knew as much, surely he rested during the day. It was just too far to reach, with his ankle chained to the floor. 

Viktor groaned, the thought refusing to shake free. He couldn't escape, of course his captor had planned for that. There was no way the door was unlocked. Such carelessness would be a mistake. But if it wasn't, if Viktor could run?

The cuff of the shackle was fastened around his boot, leaving just enough room for the knob of his ankle to slide through. It hurt, it had him biting his own tongue to keep in a sob, but with careful movements, Viktor pulled his foot free of his boot and the shackle.

The apartment was silent, save for the rain outside now coming down in torrents. When he moved to stand, his legs refused to hold his weight, crumpling under the demand of his own body.

He swallowed down a sob and pushed himself up on the sofa, reaching out for the wall behind it for support, slowly shuffling with uneasy legs. A board creaked below his feet and he held his breath, praying the noise would go unheard.

Another few shaky steps brought him to the door, and he pressed his ear to it, praying to anyone listening that he had chosen the right one. His pulse quickened when he heard footsteps beyond, kind voices chattering.

He fumbled with the knob, listening to it click fruitlessly, refusing to turn, refusing to open.

Viktor swore under his breath and pulled harder, hearing a tiny bell chime in a room behind him, muted through the walls.

"No," Viktor breathed, dread rising in his chest as rushed footsteps drew inevitably closer. "No _no no_!"

A sharp pinch at the back of his neck rendered him suddenly, completely still, crumpling to the floor. "You know I can't let you go now, Viktor." His voice warned, cool hands pulling him up into a cold, bare chest. "I would appreciate it if you don't interrupt my sleep again."

The bite of the shackle tightened around his ankle again, and Viktor wished more than anything that he had killed him that first night.

"I'm sorry." Viktor whispered, feeling empty and exhausted, his ankle throbbing. "Please, just kill me or let me go."For the first time, in the light of day, Viktor saw him clearly. Gold-flecked mahogany eyes made red around the edges. He was small but strong, his waist curved inward effortlessly, beautifully. With his chest bare, Viktor could see the smattering of thin scars across his skin. Dark hair, dark, pointed brows, he looked otherworldly. What kind of monster could be so beautiful?

"What?"

"Kill me. Or let me go." Viktor repeated, feeling tears come again. "I can't do this again, I won't. I'll be dead before you come back for me."

"Don't threaten something that you won't follow through." his voice was serious as death, face unreadable. "I can tell when you're lying."

Viktor curled into himself, putting his back to his captor. He didn't know the man's name, he didn't know what he had done to deserve this torture. All he knew was that he couldn't bear to face him any longer.

"Rest. Don't attempt that again." came his warning, unheard and but impossible to ignore. "Yuuri. My name is Yuuri."

"I hate you, Yuuri."

* * *

Yuuri hadn't been so aware of his strength in decades, maybe a century. Those words, those first words, his refusal, his determination to fight and live... destroyed in a week.

He could barely sleep. Not after that. The memory of Viktor's blood was far too great a distraction from sleep.

When the sun had set, Yuuri stepped into the sitting room to the scent of Viktor heavy in the air, the scent of his blood. It took only a moment to find the source of it. The knife he had left on that plate of fruit was smeared with it, dried streaks ran along the lines of Viktor’s forearms. His shirt had been torn at the elbows, belying the boy’s desperation. Yuuri waited for a moment, lingering in the doorway as he listened for the heavy thudding of Viktor's heart, still stubbornly beating despite Viktor’s best efforts.

With a long sigh, Yuuri crossed into the room, his voice had Viktor visibly flinching. "You could have tried to find something sharper." he remarked as he plucked the dull butter knife from Viktor's grasp. He had only barely broken skin, a messy, failed attempt to follow through.

"You said you know if I'm lying." Viktor answered tiredly, his throat raw and strained. He had made a valiant effort to die silently, though the tear tracks were still drying on his cheeks. He was clearly shaken by the pain of using a dull blade— a pain Yuuri had known, once.

"You were lying, at first. But you changed your mind in the meantime." Yuuri said simply. "What was it? That made you change your mind?"

"You." Viktor's answer was clear and honest, wrenching his left wrist away from Yuuri's grasp when he returned with a washcloth.

"Me. Why?" Yuuri asked again, pulling Viktor by the arm, listening to his choked whimper. The physical weakness had set in faster than Yuuri thought it would. He knew the answer to his own question, of course, Viktor’s mind was easy to step into and that ease was only intensified when Yuuri touched him.

"I don't want to do this for you." Viktor said through gritted teeth, "I don't want to be your food forever."

Yuuri laughed softly. Viktor’s naivete was endearing. "It won't be forever. Just until you're too weak to continue."

"When is that?" Viktor asked, his voice small, tired, and weak. Yuuri watched as horror was lost to exhaustion and he found himself swallowing against a dry throat. He wanted to taste that cocktail in Viktor’s blood.

"A month.” Yuuri answered, standing from the sofa, draping the blood-stained rag to dry. “Maybe two, if I'm lucky."

"I only have a month to live." Viktor stopped resisting and the tears came silently.

"Maybe more."

"I died the day you took me." Viktor said quietly, like a simple exhale. A quiet realization, nothing more. "But you won't let me die."

“Of course not.” Yuuri wiped away the last of the blood on his forearm, licking the wound clean and sealing it. "That would be wasteful, Viktor."

"Wasteful." Viktor repeated, laughing dryly. " _Wasteful_." For a moment, Yuuri saw a flash of something hungry in Viktor's eyes, something defiant. "Well? Don't let me go to waste." Viktor sighed, rolling his head to the side, exposing his throat.

Yuuri pinned his wrists above his head and sank in, tasting fresh, bright Viktor, his mind swimming with it. His breathing began to slow again, as it always did, his chest stuttering. Despite Viktor's resignation, the fear that lurked in his heart always found its way through, dripping onto Yuuri's tongue like the sweetest ambrosia.

"Keep going," Viktor gasped, choking on his own blood. "Don't stop."

Yuuri hesitated, only for a moment, tasting the sharp tang of his tears, the anger, the despair. It was delicious, intoxicating, his blood made it nigh-impossible to pace himself. He listened carefully to the slowing thud of his heart, the tremble of his lungs as he struggled for breath. 

There was something so wonderful about the fight, about the way Viktor resisted him, but this desperation, this new despair, tasted heady like wine. 

Before Yuuri realized it, Viktor’s eyes had rolled back, his heartbeat dangerously slow. He forced himself to pull off, drowning in Viktor’s delicious scent that had filled the air around them. If it were possible, this boy would have been the death of him. 

His breaths were ragged and labored, his lips pale and his cheeks sunken. Were Yuuri a younger man, a different man, he would have mourned his beauty. But Viktor would recover, weaker, in a day or two. Hopefully he had quashed any urge to run.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning for needles, force-feeding and suicidal thoughts.

Human days were more difficult to keep up with than Yuuri remembered— but with Viktor in the parlor, he did his best to track the sun’s movement in the sky. His tongue still remembered the taste of Viktor’s despair, the sharp blend of hopelessness that he had been craving. Nothing could compare to it, nothing would. 

If he had been able to feel something like pity, he might have. Living through a few centuries tended to strip one of emotions such as those. 

Most emotions were that way. 

As one day turned to two, Viktor slowly began to show signs of recovery, his eyes moving behind his eyelids, pale and translucent. He groaned, made soft, exhausted sounds as he slept. Envy was still a functioning emotion, though. Yuuri envied the boy’s ability to sleep this long. His patience was beginning to wear thin, his thirst demanded he feed elsewhere in the intervening time, and none of them had the same crisp flavor, the same delicious headiness. 

It was two and a half days before Viktor opened his eyes again, hazy and unfocused. He babbled messily, pulled weakly at his tether and fell asleep again. 

The gauze Yuuri had wrapped around his wrists needed to be changed— the messy, jagged wounds Viktor had given himself were healing well enough with the repairing salve Yuuri had spread on them under the dressings. 

His arms were so thin, the bones in his wrists so brittle and light, one would be forgiven in thinking Viktor was a bird. Yuuri’s mouth watered as he imagined what the buttery marrow inside tasted like. The thought refused to leave him alone, chasing him even as he slept through the afternoon. 

He hadn’t dreamt in at least a hundred years until Viktor.

Yuuri dreamt that Viktor’s bones broke like brittle, dead branches in his hands, staining his skin such a deep crimson Yuuri could smell it when he woke. He could hear his ribcage cracking in his hands. He dressed silently, hungrily, and locked the door behind him. He had to hunt. He had to know he could replicate whatever he had found in Viktor.

There was another man that night, not unlike Viktor. He was tall and lean, but muscled in the ways that Yuuri appreciated. His hair was long too, though a yellow-gold instead of Viktor’s white-gold. The boy was easily lured into Yuuri’s trap, as Viktor had been, but when he reached into the boy’s mind, there was no resistance, as there had been with Viktor. A warmed knife through butter.

Viktor had pushed through the barrier Yuuri set. He physically fought back with whatever strength a human like him had. 

He screamed when Yuuri bit down, fruitlessly— he wouldn’t be heard by passersby. This man, Colin, struggled in Yuuri’s arms, begging for his release, begging to be let go, he swore not to tell a soul what had happened. Yuuri gave him words and Colin babbled them back without a second thought; he couldn’t break through Yuuri's control like Viktor did. 

Regardless, Yuuri humored him and weakened his grip on his mind as he drank, but again no struggle came. No push against Yuuri’s presence came, even as he pulled further away. The terror was rich in his blood, and it was certainly palatable, but there was no struggle, no fight in it. 

The poor boy was wheezing within minutes, his chest rattling as he struggled to cling to life. Again, there was an empty kind of pity. His breaths came in whistling, ragged gasps and Yuuri was certain. Viktor was the only one.

How much power would Viktor have, if Yuuri turned him?

* * *

Viktor woke in the apartment alone. For the briefest moment, fleeting and beautiful, he forgot where he was. He wondered if he had maybe fallen asleep on the sofa after dinner, and should perhaps return to his studies. But when he moved to stand from the sofa, his body refused the command.

He gasped, a painful rush of breath sucked back into his lungs. His ribs ached, his vision swam. And worst, his stomach was turning back on itself in hunger. 

The last he had eaten was… too long ago to remember. 

The sun was just beyond the horizon, casting the sky in periwinkle and lavender shades of foreboding. His monster would be home soon.

He collapsed to the sofa again, as the truth of it sank in. He was still alive. He was still detained in an apartment somewhere in Paris. He was being slowly drained, allowed to recover, only to be drained again. The tears came in uneven rivulets, gathering in his eyelashes and streaking down his cheeks. 

He sobbed, a weak, broken thing that Viktor barely recognized was his own voice. 

It would have been merciful to let Yuuri kill him that night. To give up the stubborn notion that Yuuri would spare him, if he had only begged him not to. He wished he had flung himself into the river instead, that he hadn’t fallen asleep in the library that night. What life would he have been allowed to live, if Yuuri had chosen another that night?

A sharp pain in his forearm nearly had him voiding his empty stomach. There was a needle under his skin, attached to a thin tube. He followed the tube with his eyes, spotting a glass container suspended from the ceiling. Clear liquid was dripping into him, and with a trembling hand, he moved to pull it free. 

Maybe he would bleed out before Yuuri came back.

He winced when the door unlocked, every part of him felt heavy and leaden. Yuuri had his collar turned up, melted snow running down the lapels of his coat. In any other life, Viktor might have hurried to warm him, but he stayed, chest heaving, light-headed, on that sofa. 

Yuuri shrugged out of his coat and plucked the needle and tube off the floor where it had fallen, a scant few drops of blood around it. 

“You shouldn’t have pulled it out, Viktor.” Yuuri scolded, pulling his left arm to his mouth and lapping at the blood that had pooled there. “Dangerous.”

Viktor scoffed. "You're dangerous."

"I'm a less immediate danger."

"You're the only danger. I could have been home."

"Yes. But you aren't."

"I hate you."

Yuuri left him, his frigid touch only barely warm— he must have found at least one unlucky soul to feed on. Yuuri returned with a length of rope, and Viktor could only barely manage to roll his eyes. “The shackle wasn’t enough?”

“Clearly not.” Yuuri answered, his dead monotone felt like the toll of a mourner’s bell. “You wasted blood, and nearly broke my apparatus.”

“Then drink from the floor.” Viktor retorted, pushing all the bile he could into his words. “Why won’t you just let me die?” Yuuri gave him a look that was eerily similar to some kind of pity. A ghost of it, maybe. Viktor didn’t let himself think deeper on it. He winced as Yuuri slid that needle back under his skin. 

“Try not to pull it out again. This isn’t going to kill you, it’s just saline.” Yuuri said dryly, pulling his arms behind his back and looping that rope around his wrists. “When the solution is gone, I’ll untie you.”

Viktor felt another portion of himself shattering— this was more than restraint, this was humiliating. He let his head hang, his hair greasy and unkempt. How long had he gone without a bath? He refused to cry— he couldn't let his monster have that victory.

After a while, a spoon pushed at his lower lip, the scent of a strong, earthy-smelling broth wafted into his nose. It smelled like duck fat and chicken stock.

“Eat.” Yuuri said, pushing the spoon into Viktor's mouth. He recoiled, though his posture restricted most movement.

"I don't want food." Viktor knew he sounded deranged. He felt it. "I don't want it, I just want—"

Yuuri gave him no choice, spooning a mouthful of broth in as he begged. “What?”

"I just want to die!" Viktor sobbed, wishing he had choked on that first bite. "Why won't you just let me die?"

"You're weak and hungry. Everything seems worse like this."

"This can't be made better with food—" Another spoonful slid past his lips and he found himself swallowing despite every urge to let it drown him.

"This should be easy on your stomach." Yuuri replied in that dry way that Viktor hated. When he lifted another bite to his lips he took it, pushing against Yuuri's pull coercing him to eat. He spat it on the floor between Yuuri's feet.

"I don't want it." Viktor snapped, feeling that cold sneaking up his spine again— the one he had felt in the street. It hasn't been that strong since that night.

"Yes, you do." Yuuri insisted passively, feeding him another bite. He held his jaw closed, and Viktor swallowed, coughing violently when Yuuri released him. "Not so bad, was it?"

Yuuri heard every protest Viktor left unvoiced, he was easier to read when he was this exhausted, this hopeless. Yuuri watched the vivid scene Viktor imagined as he stepped away to cut a slice of bread to feed him. There was so much blood in Viktor's imagination, and it only made Yuuri hungrier. 

After Yuuri finished forcing him to eat, Viktor refused to call what he felt calm. He couldn't let Yuuri win that too. Yuuri was right, and it sank like a rock in his stomach. The misery and desperation still clung to his mind, still clawed at him from the inside out, but he could at the very least say that he wasn't hungry. 

“I still hate you. And this place."

"I didn't say you'd be happy. I said you would feel better." Yuuri saw the slope of his shoulders, the exhausted heave of a sigh. "The solution is nearly gone. Rest a bit longer."

Viktor said nothing, though his mind continued to wander bloody paths. Yuuri listened quietly as every trail led to Viktor's end— and though he knew likely nothing would come of it, he very quietly hid every knife in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i felt quite evil writing this but y'all can thank my enabler for this


End file.
